Falling snow
Winter, 1998:
The living room, dark and silent. The glow of dying embers, intense and deeply set in the hard, stone fire place. Curled up under my favorite blanket, peering out into the dark cold night, lost in thought. Lost inside myself.
There I was, thirteen years old, silently watching the largest snow fall we had had in years. Every day seemed to pass with as much normality as any other, while I was falling to pieces over my parents divorce. I woke up each morning and painfully painted a smile upon my lips. I taught myself, pretty well if I may add, how to keep my feelings from touching my eyes. But like the storm outside, I was cold, distant, and raging with anger. I hated both of my parents, equally and with no regret. Questions swirling inside my head, like the snow flakes outside. Pain, deep and burning like hot coals; scarring me from the inside out.
Fighting to break free of my thoughts, I look around. Chris had fallen asleep next to me, curled under her own blanket. And Mark, stretched out and softly snoring on the lazy-boy. Even when they slept, I felt their love around me. They were the family that I desperately needed. I held on to them like a small, frightened child would cling to his mother. I knew without a doubt that I was safe, and very much wanted, inside their home. I also knew without a doubt that if it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have made it past christmas.
Winter, 2002:
The cold air hits my lungs and I desperately try to breathe. How I had almost forgotten what fresh air felt like. Ten days inside, on a psych ward, has the dangerous ability of making you forget the outside world. I cup my frozen hands around the lighter and light a cigarette. I inhale deeply as a smile stretches across my face. 'How can you miss something so bad for you?' I ask my step mom. She just rolls her eyes and smirks. 'Hey, I know you hate that I smoke, but thanks for coming outside with me. Ten minutes, in below zero temperatures, is better than nothing.'
Eighteen years old and already crazy... or are you born that way? Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Questions you can ponder over for hours. I shouldn't say hours as though time even exists on a psych. ward. It was like being sucked into the Bermuda Triangle. The Twilight Zone, as I began referring to it. The only way you knew the time was when your meals were brought to you. Or when you were shuffled off to classes with names like,'Self Improvement' and 'A will to live'. Not that any of that mattered. You are too busy crying and wallowing in your sorrows to care about time, food, or listening to doctors drone on and on about how much you should love yourself. No one ends up in the nut house for loving themselves, now do they?
What a waste...
Winter, 2003:
Each night I would will myself to just go straight home after work. Each night, I found myself at your door. It was inevitable. I even started carrying an extra pair of clothes in my car. When it came to you, I didn't have a will or a sense of strength. You had the ability to chase away all the sanity in me.
I'd quietly open the door and climb the stairs to your room. I'd walk in and stand there for a moment, waiting for your eyes to flutter. And even without making a sound, you always knew when I was there. I'd announce my presence with a smile and sneak away to the bathroom to change. We'd meet in the hallway and go down to the den for our nightly ritual. Cigarettes and silence. There once was a time when we would talk for hours, engaging in the deepest of conversations. Now, after five years, words hold no meaning.
I get up from my chair and wait by the window for you to finish your cigarette. I am suddenly cold and pull my arms tightly around my middle. I am silent while I watch the falling snow outside. I don't even feel you behind me until you run your slender fingers through my hair. It's been years since you reached out to touch me. I close my eyes, as tears well up in my eyes. And just as quietly, you slip back up the stairs. I stand there for a moment longer, whispering into the darkness, 'How did you get so lost?' ... I wipe away the tears and climb back up to your room.
Unlike our relationship inside my head, my love for you was real. You will forever haunt me. You are my ... immortal.
The living room, dark and silent. The glow of dying embers, intense and deeply set in the hard, stone fire place. Curled up under my favorite blanket, peering out into the dark cold night, lost in thought. Lost inside myself.
There I was, thirteen years old, silently watching the largest snow fall we had had in years. Every day seemed to pass with as much normality as any other, while I was falling to pieces over my parents divorce. I woke up each morning and painfully painted a smile upon my lips. I taught myself, pretty well if I may add, how to keep my feelings from touching my eyes. But like the storm outside, I was cold, distant, and raging with anger. I hated both of my parents, equally and with no regret. Questions swirling inside my head, like the snow flakes outside. Pain, deep and burning like hot coals; scarring me from the inside out.
Fighting to break free of my thoughts, I look around. Chris had fallen asleep next to me, curled under her own blanket. And Mark, stretched out and softly snoring on the lazy-boy. Even when they slept, I felt their love around me. They were the family that I desperately needed. I held on to them like a small, frightened child would cling to his mother. I knew without a doubt that I was safe, and very much wanted, inside their home. I also knew without a doubt that if it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have made it past christmas.
Winter, 2002:
The cold air hits my lungs and I desperately try to breathe. How I had almost forgotten what fresh air felt like. Ten days inside, on a psych ward, has the dangerous ability of making you forget the outside world. I cup my frozen hands around the lighter and light a cigarette. I inhale deeply as a smile stretches across my face. 'How can you miss something so bad for you?' I ask my step mom. She just rolls her eyes and smirks. 'Hey, I know you hate that I smoke, but thanks for coming outside with me. Ten minutes, in below zero temperatures, is better than nothing.'
Eighteen years old and already crazy... or are you born that way? Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
Questions you can ponder over for hours. I shouldn't say hours as though time even exists on a psych. ward. It was like being sucked into the Bermuda Triangle. The Twilight Zone, as I began referring to it. The only way you knew the time was when your meals were brought to you. Or when you were shuffled off to classes with names like,'Self Improvement' and 'A will to live'. Not that any of that mattered. You are too busy crying and wallowing in your sorrows to care about time, food, or listening to doctors drone on and on about how much you should love yourself. No one ends up in the nut house for loving themselves, now do they?
What a waste...
Winter, 2003:
Each night I would will myself to just go straight home after work. Each night, I found myself at your door. It was inevitable. I even started carrying an extra pair of clothes in my car. When it came to you, I didn't have a will or a sense of strength. You had the ability to chase away all the sanity in me.
I'd quietly open the door and climb the stairs to your room. I'd walk in and stand there for a moment, waiting for your eyes to flutter. And even without making a sound, you always knew when I was there. I'd announce my presence with a smile and sneak away to the bathroom to change. We'd meet in the hallway and go down to the den for our nightly ritual. Cigarettes and silence. There once was a time when we would talk for hours, engaging in the deepest of conversations. Now, after five years, words hold no meaning.
I get up from my chair and wait by the window for you to finish your cigarette. I am suddenly cold and pull my arms tightly around my middle. I am silent while I watch the falling snow outside. I don't even feel you behind me until you run your slender fingers through my hair. It's been years since you reached out to touch me. I close my eyes, as tears well up in my eyes. And just as quietly, you slip back up the stairs. I stand there for a moment longer, whispering into the darkness, 'How did you get so lost?' ... I wipe away the tears and climb back up to your room.
Unlike our relationship inside my head, my love for you was real. You will forever haunt me. You are my ... immortal.